At Midnight's Edge
by The Abecedarian Novelist
Summary: Through trials and tribulation, the four brothers must battle against all odds to keep their family together. Inspired by GolzyBlazey's (from deviantart) fan art "Behind The Darkness", this TMNT fan fiction takes a deeper look into the story of Michelangelo, the most innocent and naive of the four, as he struggles to keep the darkness at bay.
1. Prelude: To The Good Times

**To The Good Times**

"Michelangelo."

I breathe slowly, and close my eyes.

That name, spoken by him…I had promised myself that I'd never give up hope that I would hear it again. I had known, then, that the sound would be accompanied by joy. But as the last syllable leaves his lips, all I can do is stand motionless with that voice echoing unfamiliar in my mind. I stand on the edge, looking down on the city I call home, seeing nothing. I can't think, I can't speak. Only when the breath of the city brushes past me do I realize that I have lost my own, and slowly my lips part to accept the air into my lungs with small gasps. As the night air fills me so do the words; thick and heavy and horrible as I struggled to make them cooperate, to spill them from my tongue… but their weight is too great to be carried by the air. I fill my lungs once more. The smog and cold bite my throat.

Everything becomes one word.

My heart counts down the seconds.

Three.

Two.

"One."

* * *

The sound was soft, but the single syllable stretched across the void that separated them, filling it with _everything_. Leonardo pulled the word through his mind, dissecting it, viewing every aspect of what lie behind it… but it was useless. The figure before him turned its head, anticipating a response... but there was none to give. What could he say? He could not comprehend-

"One year."

Leonardo's expression remained passive, but beneath the mask the adrenaline urged every muscle into preparedness. There was something... _off _with Mikey's voice. It was too steady, too collected, too unfamiliar to the voice he had heard one year ago. Unease seeped through Leonardo as Michelangelo turned slowly to face his older brother. He shifted his weight slightly to one leg, swinging Donatello's staff onto the back of his neck and resting his hands against the weapon, as if he couldn't care less about that year. His head fell back against the staff and his gaze slid upward towards the starless sky... and he laughed.

"Ahhh," he sighed as his laughter died. "That's one hell of a long time."

A moment passed before Leo found his voice. "Yes."

"That's all you have to say? _Yes?" _Michelangelo scoffed and turned away, sauntering towards the edge of the roof before walking precariously along it, unfazed by the plummet next to him. He swung the staff back around and placed its tip on the roof, his silhouette soft against the glow of the city. Leonardo watched his every move, unnerved by his brother's behavior. The entire confident display was reminiscent of Raphael, yet it was more controlled, deliberate… uncanny. Michelangelo surveyed the city below him as he traced aimlessly on the rooftop with Donnie's staff. Leonardo narrowed his eyes as he looked at the staff, but still he didn't move. He waited. He owed his brother that much.

Michelangelo turned abruptly and dropped Donnie's prized possession, the sound of the clattering weapon shocking Leonardo's nerves. He saw Mikey's hands become fists as his fingers folded slowly towards his palms, his thumbs rubbing his knuckles.

Leo blinked and Michelangelo was walking towards him, his face dark in shadow, metal glinting at his hands. Leonardo's muscles flinched as the adrenaline hit, yet he did not move, his own weapons untouched. The second split before Mikey shoved him against the stairway wall, his forearm pressed hard against Leo's chest and a sharp cold against his throat. Leonardo eased his chin upward to provide leeway for the knife as his hands rose slightly in front of him.

"Okay," Leonardo breathed, "I understand you're -"

"No you don't, Leo."

"Mikey, I -"

Leo gasped as the blade slid up under his chin, the edge of it stinging his skin. He pressed his palms on the wall behind him and pushed himself upward to escape the knife, but it followed his every move. Years of training had honed Leo's self-control, perfected it, and ensured that he would always be calm and ready when faced with danger. But this… this he had not trained for. This was his brother, little Mikey, the one who had always lightened his spirits with a joke, a smile... Leo's eyes flashed to Mikey's and he searched desperately to find one hint of the brother he knew… and saw nothing.

"Mikey, you wouldn't do this. This isn't you," Leo gasped as Michelangelo pressed him harder against the wall, aware that his panic had shown through his voice.

"Oh, we both know you don't believe that," Mikey cooed. Leo glanced again towards his brother again, his eyes wide, and his whole world seemed to stop. Mikey's eyes were steady, dark, and unreadable as they held Leonardo's, but Leo didn't need to read them. He could feel a profusion of emotions emanating from his brother, beating down his conscience into oblivion. As Leonardo watched Michelangelo's glare grow darker, he knew there were no words for what he had done. There was no reason, he knew, that he should be alive after this night. Any resolve he had when he came onto the roof had all but evaporated, and he slumped heavily against the wall, feeling the knife cut into him further. He didn't try to resist. He knew what he deserved.

Michelangelo's eyes never left Leonardo. His grip tightened on the blade as he felt a warmth slip from the metal down onto his hand. His arms shook, his expression hardened... and the night shifted. A car horn sounded below them and the breeze found Michelangelo. His eyes cleared, his grip loosened. Another second passed before he released Leonardo. Weakness enveloped him as Leonardo met the ground, falling to one knee. Slowly, he lifted his hand to his throat and flinched at the sting. The hand came away blood stained. Leo closed his eyes and exhaled slowly before standing.

Michelangelo was once again on the edge of the high-rise, with his back to the city. "You have always been the most controlled, big brother," Mikey mused after a few moments silence. The turtle sunk into a sitting position, leaning nonchalantly on one hand as if he had never left. His head tilted slightly.

Leonardo paused to allow his heart to slow. When he felt his legs were steady enough, he took a step back and rested his shell against the wall that had trapped him only moments ago. "It had...frustrated you before."

Mikey shrugged. "It does. Always has." Three heartbeats. "Especially when you trained."

A reluctant smile twitched on Leo's lips. He recalled Mikey's incessant attempts to break his concentration as Leo performed his daily meditation. His least favorite of Mikey's tactics was the double-garlic pepperoni pizza breath. He remembered his burning muscles, his steady stance and the sweat dripping down his face as his youngest sibling had breathed the cloud of toxic fumes into his eyes, the deadly combination of garlic and pepperoni causing them to water. Oh, how it had tested him. It took all he had to remain as still as he did, but Leo's placid expression had only strengthened the younger turtle's resolved. Mikey had performed every ridiculous facial expression known to man, had created an orchestra of annoying noises using his armpits and hands and had even took to mocking Leonardo's favorite TV show. Finally, with all other methods run dry, Michelangelo had timidly poked Leo between the eyes with his nunchucks. The next thing he knew Mikey was on the ground, his arm twisted behind his back as he cried for mercy, Leonardo laughing wholeheartedly above him.

The memory vanished quicker than it had come. The cheerful image of his younger brother was replaced with the dark, chiseled figure in front of him. Leonardo sighed quietly.

"You _were _quite annoying," he said softly.

"Good. I tried hard enough."

"I know you did. I nearly lost it at the garlic breath."

Michelangelo's laugh was lighter than before. "I was so sure that would work."

"It nearly did."

The silence found them again. Leonardo shifted his feet and watched his brother warily, the skin still burning at his neck. What were they doing? So much had happened in the past year, so much that could not be brushed away with shallow tones and small talk. He hesitated in the pause between them, and then pushed himself away from the wall, taking a step forward. Michelangelo stopped him by raising his arm. The knife in his brother's hand had been replaced by a small flask. Leo watched with mixed emotions as his brother motioned it towards him.

"To the good times," he said quietly. With a swift drink, the turtle pocketed the beverage and gently picked up Donatello's staff, tossing it to his older brother. Leonardo caught it easily as his brother turned to face their home city, the lights painting him black.

"Michelangelo." The name came again, more desperate this time.

The silhouette turned its head slightly. "My name..." he said softly. His hands once again curled into fists. "Is Midnight."

And then he was gone.


	2. Sleepwalker

*~*~ At long last, I have finally come back to this story. Almost an entire year! I am probably the worst writer ever. I have thought about it much, but I always seem to have something else going on, and this gets pushed aside. I never realized how much people would like that first chapter! :) So, without further ado, I give you the next chapter. I plan to post more tomorrow, for sleep is something I should probably have right now. Thank you for all of your feedback and patience. I hope you enjoy! :) *~*~

* * *

**Chapter 1: Sleepwalker**

* * *

_Three. Two. One._

_Breathe. Just breathe. Count, and breathe._

"I can't. Something's wrong," he gasped. "It's worse this time."

"Shh, I'm here. I'm here. Just breathe."

He clutched tightly onto her robes, burying himself within the fabric. His breath shook as he forced it in and out of his lungs, over and over, as if he were trying desperately to meditate. She saw the words whispered on his lips as he purposely counted behind his heartbeat. _Three. Two. One. _Slower and slower with each count. Her fingers grasped under his chin and over his wrist as she measured his pulse, breathing steadily alongside him to ease his anxious mind.

"There you are, Mayonaka," she whispered as his body began to still. His fingers loosened their grip on her sleeve, and moved his fist to rest next to his open eyes. She stroked his cheek softly, the muscles of his mouth still forming the words under his breath. _Three… Two… One… Three… Two… One…_

A boy stood in the doorway, quieter than a ghost. The moonlight caught his pale skin as he watched. She motioned towards him sharply, and he disappeared from sight.

Mayonaka sighed. She looked down to see him glance away from the door. She shook her head slightly. "There is nothing to be ashamed of," she assured him, still holding his head in her lap. "The night is when we meet our greatest demons. Haru does not judge you."

"I don't even know what my demons are."

"That makes them even more frightening." She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. "Twelve forty eight. A personal record."

A moment passed. She watched him closely, waiting.

He took deep breath, and spoke upon the exhale: "I deserve a medal." His gaze slid up to hers, and he gave her a weak grin.

She returned his smile. "There he is."

Mayonaka shifted slightly as he looked away from her, focusing on the light that streamed softly through the window. The moon was bright tonight, almost full, and it bathed him in an unearthly glow. Her eyes didn't leave him.

"Do you... remember anything?" she asked hesitantly.

He just shook his head. His pulse had returned to normal, but his body was still tense.

"Do you think you'll need it?" she asked.

"It didn't hurt," he replied. "Maybe not tonight."

"How about just a sip? Just in case."

He shook his head. "I don't –"

He jerked violently, grabbing onto her robes.

"Okay, okay." She reached for the cup next to the clock.

"No!" he gasped, waving his hand. "I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me."

"I can handle it!"

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, the only indication of her emotion. She kept her hand suspended over the cup a moment longer while Mayonaka flinched with each tremor that raked through his body. His absolute silence only confirmed his pain, but she did not offer for him to drink again. Her arm descended softly over his shoulder, and she held him there until he became still once more. She bit her cheek. Ten minutes. It _was_ worse this time. Mayonaka took a few minutes to steady himself, making sure the pain had subsided. With strenuous movements he pushed himself from her lap, his feet resting on the edge of the bedframe as he glanced towards the clock, before placing his face within his hands. She leaned back against the bedpost at the foot of the bed, and watched the slight shaking of his arms. He should have taken the cup.

They stayed there for quite some time, listening to the songs of the crickets just outside the window. The peaceful sound calmed them, as did the cool night air that caressed their tired faces. Mayonaka slowly dropped his arms to his lap and looked over to her. "_Now," _he said quietly, "_now _I deserve a medal."

She scoffed, "What about me?"

He stared at her.

"These old bones don't belong to a night owl, you know. They aren't meant to stay up this late. They need their beauty sleep."

"Ha!" he grinned. "All the beauty sleep in the world wouldn't help you."

"Watch it you!" she exclaimed, throwing a soft punch at his shoulder. He rolled with it, chuckling. She stood up and grabbed the cup, heading towards the door. "You'd better treat me with some respect or you'll be making your own pain killers."

"In which case, Suzume is all yours tomor –today."

She turned around in the doorframe, her entire body rigid. "Suzume?"

"Today is Wednesday, remember?"

Her eyes closed and her body sagged. "Oh no, I forgot we were looking after her."

"Don't you worry," Mayonaka laughed. "I promise to stay around the house if you keep making my pain killers." He smiled wide.

She rolled her eyes and returned the cup to the bedside table. "Alright, then. You have me there. Just keep her away from anything fragile. And don't… be yourself."

"Well thanks for the inspirational talk, mum."

"You know what I mean," she said. "Be a good example, would you? Act your age."

"We don't know my age."

"Then act my age."

"That's boring."

She pointed a finger at him. "You're pushing it."

"Not while I have Suzume to threaten you with."

She pursed her lips, trying to hide her amusement. Mayonaka eased back into his bed covers and placed his hands behind his head, completely satisfied with himself.

She rolled her eyes. "Do you want some tea?"

"Nah," he shrugged, resting his hands on his stomach. "It'll keep me up."

"You need _something. _You're weak."

"Just a barrel of encouragement tonight, aren't you?"

She sighed. "Goodnight, Mayonaka. I'll see you in a few hours."

"Goodnight, Madame Himura."

The door closed quietly behind her. Mayonaka stared where she had been for a moment before shifting his gaze to the cup, his smile fading. He clenched his teeth and tore his gaze away, rolling to his side and pulling his blanket up to his neck, holding it tightly. It was going to be a long night.


	3. Amnesia

**Chapter 2: Amnesia**

* * *

It is unlike anything I have ever smelled before. My nostrils flare and my whole body goes limp as my room turns into a paradise. If there is only one thing I want right now, it is to lay in this scent forever. Okay, maybe not the only thing. Definitely the second thing. The _first_ thing I want to do is _eat every last crumb. _Eat until my belly aches. Eat until I can't move.

_Piiiizzzaaa._

But this is no ordinary pizza, oh no. I breathe in deep. No. This is _art, _this is _perfection. _This is _the ninety-nine cheese pizza. _Just the name makes me shiver. It's too good to be true. You could say it's –

_A culinary impossibility. _

My eyes open and I'm staring at my ceiling. I dare not move, dare not think about anything else. What was that? I stare ahead, rigid as a board, trying to grasp it. It, that thought, hovers maddeningly out of sight, just barely, but I know it's there. What _is _that? I force myself to focus through my grogginess, closing my eyes tight, trying to trap the thought in my head. There's something there, but it slips away faster than the smell that had filled my room just moments before. I sit up quickly and grab my blanket. Don't go!

Aaaaannnddd… It's gone. Great. Paradise ruined. The smell has vanished. I sniff the air a few times just to make sure. I catch a whiff of cow manure. Yup. Definitely gone. I collapse back onto the bed. There had been _something _there, _someone. _Who was it? I feel sleep threatening to take me back under. That would be nice. I feel so tired. I just wish I knew who – Wait. How did I smell something so good over _cow manure_? I open my eyes wide. I must have… a super nose. So strong it can detect every ingredient in any pizza across the world… right from my bakery in Italy. Monsieur Shnozz, they will call me, and people from every corner of Italy will come to my bakery in search of the finest collection of pizza recipes in history.

I pause for a moment. Monsieur doesn't sound right. Is that Italian? No. It's _French! _Definitely French. I can be a French-Italian chef. Twice the cooking ability. I'll need a costume. No super-nosed chef can run a bakery without a proper –

I blink a few times. My room comes into focus. Why is it so bright? I glance over towards the window to see sunlight on my floor. There's sunlight on my floor. That's why. I yawn wide and stretch all the kinks from my arms and neck. I must have fallen asleep. Sunlight. This means something.

My sheets suddenly explode around me and I launch myself to my feet. _It means I slept in! _

Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap –

I stumble across my room, flinging shirts and pairs of pants off of my floor and in every direction. Where is my robe?! Blast my laziness! If I just cleaned my room once in a while – I mean how hard it to keep track of one robe – ohcrapohcrapohcrap – _where is it?! _I run over to my closet. Surely it can't be – It is. It's hanging up. In my closet. I look at it for a moment, confused, before snatching it off its hook and pulling it over my head. Wraps, wraps, where are – they're on my bedside table. Rolled neatly into four, perfect shapes and placed side by side, right next to a sandwich and an apple. I stare at the assortment of items for a moment. Truthfully, I can only describe my thoughts in a single word. Flabbergasted. A word I rather like, come to think of it. I could just be crazy, but Himura must've done this for me. It _must_ have been a rough night. I walk quickly over to the table and grab the rolls of fabric and the apple and stuff them into my pocket. Typical of Himura. She does all of this but doesn't wake me up in time for class. She must enjoy dishing out punishment to tardy students. I _know _she does.

The sandwich is in my hands and out the door as I sprint down the hallway, kicking a loose t-shirt off my foot. I glance towards Haru's door as I fly past it, almost making it to the kitchen before I suddenly slide to a stop, my toes pressing hard into the smooth wood floor. I stand there, motionless, for a moment, and then I slowly tiptoe backwards until I am peering back into Haru's room, his door barely cracked open. My eyes adjust to the dim light to see him fast asleep, snoring faintly. I look at him, sleeping so innocently. I look at my sandwich, and take a small bite. Yup. Mayonnaise. I look back to Haru.

If there's one thing I know for sure, when there's a chance for a little payback, I'm going to take it. No matter the consequences.

I am to the fridge and back in a flash, the sandwich replaced with a pie plate of mayonnaise. I hesitate outside of his room, planning the best means of attack. I glance upward at the narrow space above me, and smile. Bless this claustrophobic hallway.

"Haru! Wake up! We're going to be late!"

Like a panther in the night, he waits for his foolish prey, his powerful claws dug deep into the walls on either side of him, high above the lowly floor. He waits with the patience of a true predator.

And waits.

And waits.

I don't have time for this. "_Haru!"_

I hear the shifting of covers, a quiet grunt… and then a frenzy of noises not unlike the ones I had created a minute before. Seconds later Haru runs out the door, stumbling and slipping... and straight into a wall of mayonnaise. Oh, it was a beautiful sight. The condiment flew forward in a sea of white, splattering his face and black hair in a fantastic display of sweet, sweet revenge. My hand slowly lets go of the plate to reveal a frozen Haru. He wipes the mayonnaise from his eyes as the plate clatters to the ground, and looks up.

He spits the mayo from his mouth. "Mayona –"

"Mayonnaise? Oh yes. I'd say an entire pie plate. All over your face and your pretty hair." I flip down and around in a part aerial, landing to face him with the biggest idiotic smile ever. I lick a few flecks of the stuff from my arm. I nod in appreciation. "Yum. It's the real deal. Not that 'lite' stuff. Should be stuck nice and good," I tease, motioning towards his hair. His glare is murder. He wipes the stuff from his face and flings his arms to his sides, sending mayonnaise splattering against the walls. He marches straight past me and into the kitchen. I trail behind him, timidly positioning myself behind a counter.

"She's going to _kill _me, Mayonaka!" cries Haru suddenly as he scrubs the mayonnaise from his hair over the kitchen sink. "This isn't funny!"

"It is a little funny."

"No it's not! I'm _dead!_"

"I'm pretty sure we're both dead, since we're both late."

"But now I'm _deader, _thanks to you!" Haru scrubs harder at his sleeve. "These are new robes!"

"You should've thought of that before you started calling me Mayonnaise."

Haru shakes a towel over his hair and reaches for the jar I had left on the counter. "It's not my fault you're so easily offended," he grumbls, returning the half full mayonnaise jar to the fridge.

I laugh. "If there's one person who's taking anything personally right now, it's you, little brother. Besides, you seem to have gotten it out quite easily. No harm done." Unfortunately.

Haru's back is still to me as he continues to look in the fridge. What is he doing? I lean over the counter to get a better look, keeping my feet planted in case I need to make a quick escape. Which, it turns out, I do.

I hit the floor and a wasabi missile strikes the wall behind me. I roll across the gap between the kitchen counters and fling myself towards the door, the sound of Haru's feet close behind. I grab the doorframe and jerk sharply to the right as another green blob is flung from the house just inches from my neck. I swear I could feel the spice prickle my skin. That kid is ruthless. Wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of his throwing arm. Which I am. So I may as well make the best of it.

"Is that the best you got?" I call back to him without looking round. "Suzume could throw better than you!" The strangled cry I got in reply put a smile on my face. Totally worth it...

* * *

... Definitely not worth it.

Every muscle is on fire right now. Not literally, obviously. I'm using a metaphor right now. Something Himura has encouraged me to use in my daily writing journal. She said it would help to write creatively, that it would free my mind and maybe help me to remember something. Apparently she believes physical pain will help, too.

"Focus, Hura. If Mayonaka endures longer than you again, you have another ten minutes on the track."

I glance over to my little brother. His face is unreadable, almost relaxed, but the sweat pours off him like Niagra Falls. There's another thing Himura told me to use. A simile. It's supposed to add a colorful description to an otherwise bland situation. Like her choice of hair style, for instance.

"Five minutes," she says, pacing smoothly in front of us. "Five minutes into my class and you decide to grace me with your presence."

Grace was a light way of putting it. Haru had caught up with me as soon as I had slowed down to enter the dojo and had tackled me to the ground, sending us rolling down into the training floor with every eye on us.

"Discipline is required to lead a balanced life. You will learn it. You will live it. Arrive late to my class again and you will be doing this after every class for a week."

I've seen what discipline does to a person. It makes them put their hair up in a bland bun and force innocent children against the wall to feel their body burn while they suffer in silence. Discipline sucks the soul out of them, like a demon leech.

Jeez. Maybe I've been doing a little too much writing.

"Arms up," she snaps, thwacking her bo staff against my forearms. I flinch at the impact and try not to glare. "Wipe the expression from your face," she says without hesitation. "Focus on the task at hand. Don't waste energy with unnecessary emotion."

She's unbelievable. I glance back over to Haru. With Himura's back to us, he quickly shifts his rock to one hand and wipes the sweat from his eye… after which he begins to blink rapidly, his face screwed up in pain. He's obviously forgotten about the wasabi still on his fingers. I roll my eyes. I'm starting to feel sorry for him, even if he did stick beetles in my soup last week.

Himura turns around once again and we both face forward, expressionless. My legs begin to shake. I should have eaten the rest of my sandwich. Still, even without breakfast I'll be able to make it a couple more minutes. Haru, on the other hand, is slowly slipping down the wall beside me. I saw how his mother worked him during training, and he's already done the track once. I'm not looking forward to the painfully slow endurance cycle, but Haru isn't doing so well. And he has wasabi in his eyes. I sigh, glance at Madame Himura, and then my legs collapse under me, the sweet moment of relief interrupted as I push myself back up, just in time for Madame Himura to spot the change.

"Mayonaka! Track, now!"

I groan loudly and drop my stone in my lap, letting the weight pull me down. I'm barely there a moment before her bo staff sends me to my feet, racing towards the track.

* * *

"You meant to do that."

I look up. Haru stands at my feet, looking down at me like a rain cloud. I'll be sure to write that one down later. I lean forward and place my head on my leg, stretching my sore muscles. "I don't know what you mean."

Haru sits beside me, and continues his own stretches. "I'm not weak. I can take care of myself."

"I never said you were weak."

"You act like it."

I don't answer. Instead I switch to my right leg, resting my body against it. Haru follows suit, but he still stares pointedly at me. I sigh.

"She worked you hard today. Like every day. I thought you'd like a break."

"Well I don't!"

I hold my stretch, not looking at him. We go through a few more stretches in silence. I glance briefly at him. He seems to be thinking, his brow betraying his thoughts. It takes a moment before he talks again.

"I'm sorry."

I shrug. "It's okay."

Silence.

"You're tough," I continue, looking over to him. "Half the kids in there wouldn't have been able to take what Mum threw at you. You're her son. She works you hardest."

"You're her son, too," he mutters.

"Adopted son, and only since four months ago," I correct.

"Adopted, but she pushes you almost as hard as me."

I grin. "Almost."

His brows furrow. It amazes me how much he acts like his mother. They both get that same look when talking to me sometimes.

"She shouldn't be pushing you so hard!" he says suddenly, crossing his legs, staring at the ground.

I look at him, confused. "Pushing _me? _Were you not in there sweating up a storm ten minutes ago?" The nerve of this kid. He likes to work too hard, that's his problem.

"You were up on the roof last night, Mayo. I saw what happened."

I look away. So he had been there. I thought I had seen him in the doorway.

Haru's voice was thick. "You can't… go through that, every single night, and still do what you do in training. You're going to get hurt. She's pushing you too hard."

"She's –" I stop. Take a breath. "She's a wise woman, Haru. She knows what she's doing." I look back to him, placing a hand on his back. "_I _know what I'm doing. Training helps. Would you rather I didn't train? Do you think it's better for me to give up and wait for it to happen every night?"

"No, I… It's just…" he struggles, searching for words. "It…"

"It scares you?" I ask, trying to catch his eyes. His head is bowed, but he nods. I smile faintly. "Well, why wouldn't it? I'm basically Frankenstein compared to –"

"I'm serious, Mayonaka!" He shoves my arm away. "What if you walk off the roof next time? What if it gets worse? What if –" He clenches his teeth together and cuts the sudden outburst short. He breathes through his nostrils and out through his mouth, trying to calm himself. I can use some of that meditation right now. I'd rather not think about any of those possibilities. It was bad enough that I had to go through it every night. Now, it seems, Haru was too.

I see Madame Himura leave the dojo and start walking across the grass. She looks up and stops for a moment when she sees us. Before she can start walking over I shake my head. Concern clear on her face, she hesitates, but then collects herself, and nods. I watch her for a moment as she heads towards the house, before turning back to Haru. He is wiping his face with his sleeve. I avert my eyes.

A moment passes, and he grabs my hand. I jump at the sudden touch. "Sorry," he says, letting go. "Did that hurt?"

I shake my head. "No. Just surprised me."

I hold my hand out to him, and he takes it gently. His fingers begin to trace along my skin, his curious hands following the scars that ran along my arm. They are quite impressive, if I say so myself. Definitely useful if I, for whatever reason, felt the need to compare scars with someone. I'm pretty sure I would outmatch anyone in that respect.

"What happened to you," he says, almost to himself, more of a statement than a question. He already knows the answer.

"I don't know."

He drops my arm and folds his own, leaning back with anger all over his face. "It's not fair."

"You're telling me." Probably for the best, though. I wasn't too eager to find out where my scars came from. I look towards the dojo. "Come on. Let's go."

"Go where?"

"To the dojo."

"We can't go in there when there's no class. Mom says we're not – Mayo!"

I am already running. My feet hit the grass hard as I pump my legs. Not the kindest way to end a conversation, especially one like that, but I don't want to talk anymore.

"The dojo is locked, you idiot!" I hear him call behind me.

"Has never stopped me!" I shout back. Before he can say _Mayonaka _I am up the wall and through the window. Mum always leaves at least one of them open after each class to refresh the damp air. I poke my head back outside and motion for Haru to join me. He shakes his head, looking nervously towards the house. "Come _on,_" I push. "You need some momentum. Take a run at it." He hesitates. "The next class isn't for an hour," I reassure him. "She's having tea and making lunch. We'll be out of here before then."

He takes a few steps backwards and glances at the house again. "I'm going to kill you if she catches us," he says, before digging his feet into the grass and bolting towards the wall. I fall to the floor as he rolls over the window sill.

"See," I say, as he drops down beside me. "That wasn't too bad."

He groans. "My legs are going to kill me tonight."

"Meh," I shrug. "Nothing mum can't help."

"_She's the reason _my legs are going to kill me tonight."

I pause. I can't argue with that. "Right." I look around. "Where does mum keep her uniform?"

"You mean her clan gear?" Haru eyes me warily. "I don't think I should tell you."

"I'm not going to _damage _it." He doesn't look convinced. "I've only ever seen her wear it once. I want to see it again." Nothing. "_Pleeeaasse. It's soooo coooool!"_

"Alright, alright! She keeps it in her room!" My shoulders sag. "But," he continues quickly, "she has some old gear in the equipment room." Haru skips over a few spare mats and jogs to the double doors at the back of the dojo. He flings them open to reveal all of Himura's training gear.

I raise my eyebrow. "I've seen all this. We use it every day."

"Not all of it," Haru says, heading to the back of the room. I follow him, curious. He stops in front of a small chest. "Mom keeps a bunch of old stuff in here for the younger kids." He leans down to open the chest, and I lean forward eagerly to as the lid comes off to reveal… junk. A pile of junk.

"Wow. It looks just like what we use every day. Except useless."

Haru snatches something from the box and flings it toward me. My arm moves reflexively and deflects it. "Ow!" I exclaim, clutching my arm. "What'd you do that for?"

"Not entirely useless, is it?"

I allow a few moments to glare at him before reaching down to grab a pair of nunchucks, weighing them in my hands. "They're great," I say bitterly. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he mutters, tossing me another set of nunchucks.

I catch them with ease before turning my attention to the weapons, as Haru searches for his own. As if by instinct, I go through a few basic motions. These have always felt the best in my hands, as if they were extensions of my own arms. We train every day with a wide variety of weapons, but I always go back to the nun chucks. I snap them around to finish, catching them under each armpit, before folding them in my hands, turning them over a few times as I inspect them. The chains are uneven in the finish, and the black leather is worn by many years of use, but they seemed reliable. A symbol is engraved at the bottom of each nunchuck, faint but distinguishable. I look closer at the red wood and see a small, delicately carved foot set within a perfect circle.

"Haru! These _are _different!" Wow. How have I never explored back here? Has mum used these in _actual combat?_

"That's why I showed you them!" he replies. He is at the other end of the room, a bo staff in his hand. He smiles mischievously. "Why don't you put them to the test, grandmaster."

I like the sound of that. My chest expands and I stand up tall, pointing a nunchuck in his direction. "That's _Supreme _Grandmaster to you, lowly pupil."

"Ha! You won't earn that title until you can grow taller than me."

"It's only half an inch! Besides, I don't need height to kick your butt."

"We'll see about that!" Haru lunges forward, shoving the end of his bo staff towards my stomach. I dodge easily and swat the staff away, twirling my nuncucks in an over-the-top manner as I dip low into my stance, exaggerating the entire display.

"Your speed contradicts your slothish features," I taunt. "I confess, I am impressed."

Haru turns and runs out the door onto the training floor, performing a few flips just for show before stopping to face me.

"Ha! Run while you still can, monkey!" I saunter after him, still flaunting my unnecessary nunchuck skills. "Only fools would go up against the _Ultimate Supreme Grandmaster._"

Haru laughs the single syllable, "Ha!" That's sarcasm, that is. "You're still Mayonnaise to me."

"Oho, someone hasn't learned his lesson. Would you like me to teach you again?" I grin as I eagerly revisit that glorious moment outside of Haru's room. The grin is short lived. Dang it. We forgot to clean it up. Himura is going to murder us… again.

"Why don't _I_ teach _you_ a little something, silly mayo man." He drops his staff and pulls out two knives from within his robes. Fake, obviously. Himura would never allow real knives in her dojo. Those were reserved for our private sessions at home. "A little something mum taught me."

"Give me your best shot."

And then he runs toward me.

I always expect a few things when we spar. A couple of punches here. Some unnecessary flips there. Maybe even a few fake maneuvers in his attempt to surprise me. I am trained to expect the unexpected, and as a result I am often very good at predicting his next move. We've fought together for three months and not much has changed.

But this time is different. My breath catches and a sudden vice seems to grip my chest as he begins to move in a way I have never seen him move before. He's not kidding when he said he was going to teach me something. This is _definitely _new. I have never seen the likes of it… so why does it seem familiar? I try to shake off the anxiety that has spread across my chest. What the – ?

Pain explodes within my jaw and the anxiety erupts into fear. Stumbling backwards I cover my face with my arm, retreating until my back rams into a wall. The attacker moves forward, and without thought my arm flies towards him. I feel my fist connect with his eye as my opposite nunchuck whips around, cracking across his face as he jerks backwards. Within the same second my foot finds his stomach and I can hear the breath leave him as he falls heavily to the ground.

The victory does nothing to calm my mind. I feel nothing but fire. See nothing but red.

Red footprints covered in blood.


End file.
